


In Their Shadows

by Lola1b



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Gen, Multi, Politics, Possible Character Death, Trespasser Spoilers, Very slight dub-con, Violence, long fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-29
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-05-03 21:23:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 15,345
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5307326
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lola1b/pseuds/Lola1b
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thirteen years after she said her goodbyes to Solas, Isanna Lavellan's son, Ameridan, begins to have strange dreams as his magical abilities spiral out of control. At the same time, political relations between elves and humans begin to devolve. Different sects of elves disagree on how their liberation should proceed, with opposing factions forming behind enemies and friends alike.<br/>Young Ameridan finds himself caught not just between the two worlds of Val Royeux and the Dales, but also between his mother and father. With them both casting such long shadows, where will Ameridan find light?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Goodbye

There was no breeze in the cross-roads to soothe her heated skin. She pulled at the collar of her under-dress, a soft, loose garment that she used to wear under her Dalish armor. It was big on her now, and she tightened the red sash around her waist, hoping she didn't look as sick as she felt.

His steps disturbed the magic around her. She took a deep breath.

She thought he wouldn't come.

She looked about her. There was only one way in and out of the little oasis. A waterfall rushed beside her left ear, on her right was a long wall of stone. If she were to choose to remain in a place for all eternity, a prison such as this wouldn't be the cruelest option.

The mirror flashed blue and she took a deep breath.

He stepped in, his eyes shining unnaturally blue. He paused, taking a note of all the wards she had placed to keep their conversation private.

“Solas,” she said, her voice worn, the strength in it having faded over the last year.

He looked at her and even with the distance of the whole oasis between them, she could see the guilt in his eyes. But oh, if guilt was enough!

“I didn't think you would come,” she said, standing up. She walked slowly, her bare feet padding on the cool stone floor.

“Why did you call me here? We both know meetings like these aren't good for us.”

His tone sounded distant, professional. Her fingers twitched, curling together.

He looked like he was about to step away and leave.

“If you didn't want to come, you wouldn't have,” she said quickly, her voice carrying loudly in the still air. “Since you came it means you wanted to. Please, just listen to me.”

He sighed and rubbed at his face. “I believe we've said all there is to say.”

That much was true.

“I just wanted to see you,” she said softly, taking a few more steps towards him. He hadn't moved, not once, since he entered. But now, with her face melting into a look of pleading despair, he couldn't help but take a step towards her. A small step, but she noticed, and she smiled sadly.

He didn't say anything more and he kept his hands behind his back. Distant. She wouldn't let him.

“I need to ask you to stop visiting my dreams if all you do is turn your back to me.”

He titled his head. “It is how...”

“You spy on me.”

“I did not mean it to be taken so harshly. I simply wish to see how you are. Whether you're... alright.”

“Alright?” she asked. She reminded herself to calm down, to be soft. But still the rage burned in her. The rage of Corypheous and the Anchor, the rage of the Inquisition, the rage of what he said to her in the cross-roads a year ago, and everything that had happened since. It burned in her, a flame so bright she felt revived and her cheeks burned red. “Do I look alright to you? Everyone I know will die. My world will die. Because of _you._ ”

It came out harsher than she meant. The look on his face melted her heart again, and she lowered her head to hide the equally pained look on her face.

“I never meant for this, Vhenan.” He turned away and Isanna's hand shot out to grab him by the arm.

“Please, emma'lath, don't leave. We never truly said goodbye.” She could feel the tears well up in her eyes.

“What would you wish of me?”

“To hold me, once, at least.”

 

* * *

 

 

The breeze caressed her cheek lightly. Below her the streets were empty and quiet. Leliana's yearly parade had been a success, judging by all the empty bottles lying about the beautiful streets of Val Royeaux. It was an anniversary she wished she could lock away. And one she wished the shemlens would stop using as an excuse for hurting her people. She understood their anger, but had the elves not paid enough already?

Leliana and Briala had joined forces with her to protect the elves, but such hatred as what was bred between the two groups cannot go away in a lifetime. Hatred grew stronger in the years after the Inquisition. She became a “knife-ear” again for many people who wished to blame them all for the actions of the Agents of Fen'Harel, a misguided group whose motivations the humans could not even begin to understand.

There was a knock on her door and Josephine entered.

“Apologies, your worship, but Marquise Briala wished to reschedule your meeting for the afternoon.”

Isanna looked away from the deserted streets and at Josephine.

“What happened?” She knew the answer already. Every year, something happens. It was just a matter of how horrible the crime was.

“An altercation in the alienage.”

“Was there deaths?” She held her breath until Josephine replied with a shake of the head.

“A house was burnt down but all residents survived.”

Isanna looked back to the window. Solas did not foresee this. In all his plans he forgot how people defend their lives. And to the common human, what is the difference between a lowly alienage elf and a spy of the great Fen'Harel? So many years had passed, and she still had to pick up his damage. Just like Corypheous. She almost wished she could fight him again instead of doing this.

“The Honor Guard has kept most of the peace,” Josephine said optimistically.

“Josie, I want you to deliver a gift to the family that lost their home. Something useful. Clothes, or...”

“I will arrange it. In the meanwhile, Marquise Briala had asked if you would consider meeting in the afternoon.”

Isanna got up from the window. She glanced at her overcrowded desk. “I will do that, thank you, Josie. I'll try to finish some of my work in the meanwhile.”

Loud footsteps echoed down the hall and Josephine turned with a greeting to Sera. The red Jenny slumped in, yawning, her nightshirt falling off her shoulder. Josephine cleared her throat and adjusted Sera's shirt so it did not hang so low.

“Whad'ya talkin' 'bout? Josie, hi there, ya'? Heard ya' here, knew shit's gone down. How bad is it now?”

Josephine relied the news to Sera and she nodded solemnly.

“Least it's not bad like last year, ya'? Score one for little people. Survived another year. Think Leliana should stop it?”

“No,” Isanna replied. “She thinks it's important to remember. And I... I think so, too.”

“Tho' you hate it,” Sera said, crossing her arms over her chest. She would have looked angry if it weren't for the puffs of her hair sticking out all over her head, giving her a comical appearance. Her loose braid hung by one shoulder, a messy twin to the long braid Isanna wore on her shoulder as well. “Well, you do it then, Isa, save 'em all 'cept yourself. But I'm here, yeah? I'm going to check on the little people, both of 'em, and then we're gonna chat, yea?”

“After my meeting with Briala, yes,” Isanna said with a smile.

“Oh, I almost forgot,” Josephine said, “how is Ameridan? Had the nightmares stopped?”

Isanna's shoulders sagged and she took a long, ragged breath.

“They're not nightmares, just... intense dreams. The doctors came by but...” she sighed.

“Stupid doctors. Clearly somethin' ain't right, but they say he's fine.”

“It means it's something they don't understand,” Isanna said, feeling more tired now that she was reminded of her sleepless nights.

Josephine's brows drew together in concern. “Perhaps I could contact Varric? The clinic in Kirkwall has some of the best talent. They could look him over.”

“No, Josie, I think it'll blow over. As long as he gets to sleep eventually, it's fine. If it continues another week, then I might take you up on that offer.”

“Yeah, he can sleep whenever, but ya' know what,” Sera said, her expression hardening, “you _need_ to sleep at night. You got shit to do. Let me help. I'll stay up with 'im tonight if he needs it, alright? You get to sleep nice and early.”

Isanna considered it. She didn't feel right leaving him, or pushing her job of motherhood onto Sera, but he did not seem to mind the dreams beyond not being able to go to sleep until late in the morning, and Sera often stayed up anyway. 

“You got work, and I can always get someone else to do my shit,” Sera insisted.

“Alright, Sera. Thank you.”

“'Course,” Sera said with a big smile. “Anythin' for you, and anythin' for Merry. Should I wake him now? Think he's sleepin'. Lessons and all that, right?”

“No, let him wake up on his own. Move his tutoring to the afternoon, but shorten it, please. He needs his time to play.”

“Yes, ma'am!” 

Josephine excused herself and Sera followed her after yawning and giving Isanna a quick wave of her hand.

Isanna watched them walk down the hall, chatting about something she didn't bother to pay attention to. She'd slept only four hours this morning, and her exhaustion made her slow and sluggish. She turned the lock in her door and leaned against the ornately decorated wood. 

She closed her eyes, images flashing in her mind. Sometimes she thought of him. It was hard not to in times like this.

She walked back to the window. Some young elf vandalized a wall across from her window.  _Fen'Harel was right_ it read. She gritted her teeth. A child, that elf. A child who does not see the humans passing by it now. A child who does not see anger and fear grow in the Shemlens who pass, who will look for any excuse to “fight back.” Chaos, anger, that's what Fen'Harel's legacy will be. And she, oh, she is the one who will try to put it back together. 

And yet the images flood her mind. She sat by the window, her hand propping her face up on the windowsill. Then, she leaned her head against the window frame, and placed her hand on her thigh. She sighed, her emotions all swirling together into a confused mess. She missed him. She hated him. She loved him. She was glad he was gone. 

Her hand traveled up her thigh, pulling her nightdress up along with it. She closed her eyes, letting the images flood her again.

 

 

* * *

 

He watched her for a long time. Hesitant. Or thinking. Of the consequences? It would be the first time. She waited. 

“Vhenan, you know it is better if we do not...”

“Please, Solas. When I think of you, I want to remember something good.”

“Is there no good you remember now?”

“It's hard,” she admitted. “All that had happened recently has colored my memories. Can't you give me some warmth, something to hold onto in the days to come?”

The words felt false in her mouth, but there was truth to them. She wished she could say what she truly wanted to, but this wasn't about her. From the moment he told her his plans, it ceased to be about her. Sera's face flashed into her memory, how it twisted with fear and anger and pain.  _I don't wanna die_ she said, and nothing Isanna could say would change how the girl, because that was what she was still at that time, clutched at her head and wept. 

“Me nuvenin,” Solas said quietly. He reached out to caress her cheek and her breath caught in her throat.

She wished this wasn't how it happened. Years from now she'd look back on this day, and what will she think, of him, of herself? 

There was no turning back now. She had to do this.

She reached up and wrapped her arm around his neck. He leaned in, his eyes closing before his lips pressed against hers. She leaned into him, and all his careful composure and control faded in an instant. He wrapped both arms around her and pulled her in, bending her backwards until she could do nothing but hold onto him and gasp. He kissed all around her neck and jaw, pulling her onto his thigh. She felt herself go rigid for a moment, and he felt it, too. He pulled away, looking down at her face with concern.

“O-over there. There's soft ground,” she said. He looked to where she motioned to and nodded. She leaned up to kiss him again before they parted. He smiled and didn't let go. He pulled her up into his arms and carried her over to the soft ground. She laughed.

“I always knew there was more to you, Solas,” she said. “The calm, harmless image of the Fade-expert... since that kiss in the fade, I knew there was more to him.”

Solas laid her down on the ground and leaned over her. “There is much you still do not know about me.”

She smiled sadly, pulling him closer. She couldn't speak to him anymore. 

She closed her eyes, concentrating only on what she felt. Though there was no wind she felt shivers of cold run through her with each inch of skin she exposed. The robe she wore fell away quickly. His ornate armor took longer, and she laughed as they tried to pry it all off of him. She kissed him on the lips, feeling herself grow more pliant, more relaxed. 

For a brief moment she remembered why she was here. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to push those thoughts away. _Let me have this_ , she begged.  _A final goodbye, something I can remember._

He spoke to her, words of love and kindness, and for a moment she felt like this could still be fixed. But then he inside her and moving and she felt the power of him, knew there was only one way this could end. He was too proud, too hot-headed to notice the world crumbling all around him. Tears flowed freely down her cheeks and she pulled him in closer so he wouldn't see. 

“Ar lath ma,” she breathed into his ear. 

 

 

* * *

 

A knock on her door made Isanna jump. She pulled her hand out and adjusted her clothing before unlocking the door.

A child, twelve years of age, stood before the door. He had brown skin and hair that shone with small streaks of red among the brunette strands, and large, round green eyes. He looked much like Isanna. He stood before her with his hands behind his back, twisting in place. Isanna noticed the speckles of paint on his white shirt and on his face. 

“Well, tell 'er,” Sera said, appearing from behind the door with a scowl on her face. 

“I painted a wall.”

Isanna's brows rose. What time was it, anyway? “You painted a wall? Just now?”

“In the morning.”

“It is morning.”

“Mamae, it's noon.”

She looked back at the clock on her wall. Indeed, it was. She pulled her robe off a hook and hastily put it on. She stepped outside her room and gently closed the door. 

“Did you sleep at all, da'len? I thought you did.”

He bit his lip then shook his head. “I woke up an hour later. I didn't want to wake any of you up, so I, uh, painted.”

Isanna sighed and ran a hand through her hair. She looked at Sera, who still had that scowl on her face.

Isanna smiled. “His paintings are wonderful. As long as it wasn't anything profane, it's alright. I'd rather him paint when he can't sleep than do something that might be harmful to him.”

Sera's look only became more sour. “Isa... you should see it. Well,  _I_ think you shouldn't, but... you should.”

Isanna narrowed her eyes. 

 

 

* * *

 

She wasn't sure if there were days and nights in the cross-roads. She never remained long enough to see. They had lain together for some time. She convinced him to stay until she fell asleep. But she remained awake, a result of a potion she took before she came here. It was him who fell asleep. In all this, he did not notice the soft scent of the sleeping draft she had carefully poured over the spot they lay on. She wasn't sure it would work. She wasn't sure of so many things. But he trusted her. For a year, she did nothing but try to convince him. She sent his spies back with frilly cakes. She begged and she pleaded. He underestimated her so many times. He saw nothing but the little quickened elf, barely a person, who loved him but was misguided. 

He did not see when the halla turned, her horns rising up, waiting for him to make the fatal move.

Years of using the Ring of Doubt had taught her to be even more quiet than her years as a Dalish elf living in the forests. He barely stirred as she extracted herself from him and got dressed. She was nearly to the mirror when she heard him wake up and begin gathering his clothes. But it was too late. She glanced over her shoulder. Her foot was right next to the mirror, ready to step over. He looked around for her, his eyes showing how dazed he was, whether it was from the sleeping draft or what came before, it didn't matter. It took him a full second to realize what was happening. By then, she was already on the other side. The mirror was semi-clear, and as she worked the spell she could see him running towards it, his confusion shifting to pain, then again to anger, and she worked the spell faster. Let her be the reason he failed. He ruined her life. Now she'd end his. 

The spell was done. He touched the glass. She turned to go but he called to her and she stopped. 

“Vhenan,” he called to her.

“Ma hellathen din'an, Vhenan.”

“Do not do this, Isanna,” he said, his voice strong, commanding. “I can help the elves! I can fix everything!”

She looked over her shoulder at him. “Ma banal las halamshir var vhen. You do not see it, but I do, for I am one of the People.”

His fingers curled into fists and he gritted his teeth. “Telanadas.”

“It is not. Ir abelas, Solas.”

“Tel'abelas,” he shot back. “You doom our people.”

“No,” Isanna said, turning to him and standing tall. “I save them. You're right. I am not sorry.”

 

 

* * *

 

Isanna raised her hand to trace the eluvian with her finger.

“Mamae, the paint is wet.”

“How'd he even do this,” Sera cried, “must've taken at least all night and mornin'!”

“It did. I told you, I couldn't sleep, and I couldn't get this place out of my head.”

Isanna lowered her hand and stared at the image. She remembered each step she took as he called to her. Each step like walking on broken glass. She raised her hand again, tracing her path from the mirror, from where she left him for thirteen years to rot, all captured in a painting, by the little hands of her son. 

“I think it's part of the cross-roads,” she heard Ameridan say. “Kieran showed me some sketches he did of it. I don't know why I'm dreaming about it... but judging from your reactions...”

She glanced over her shoulder at him. He was looking at Sera, who was glaring back at him. 

Isanna looked back at the painting. It was not like the murals Solas did. Ameridan had tried to copy them, but he was too young to master the art of a fresco. His paintings reflected the world he lived in. He tried to get then as close to reality as he could, even though his young hands weren't always skillful enough to do so. She loved these so much more then she could love the stylized frescos. 

Isanna smiled and turned to him.

“It's beautiful, Merry. Your dreams are so full of color. Like you are.” She placed a kiss on his forehead.

“Then why's Sera yelling at me,” he said, giving Sera nasty look. Sera crossed her arms over her chest.

“Don't give me that look, you squirt.” 

“Merry, be respectful of your elders.” 

He rolled his eyes. 

Isanna looked at Sera, a silent plea making the blond elf fall silent. A look of shame passed on Sera's face. She always meant well, and Isanna loved her for her honestly, but sometimes she acted too rashly. Sera took a deep breath and nudged Ameridan on the shoulder.

“Sorry, Merry, I was just worried, ya' know? You didn't sleep. It's got all us worried.”

“I know. I'm sorry. I'll try to stay in bed tonight.”

Sera hugged him and looked over his head at Isanna. She couldn't hide the look of concern forever, and Sera saw it, and her eyes showed so much sympathy. She had grown in these last years. She was older now than Isanna was when she became Inquisitor. 

“Now,” Sera said, taking Ameridan's face in her hands, “you go take a nap, yeah? You gotta sleep to be healthy.”

Ameridan rolled his eyes. They were blood-shot and tired and, thankfully, he yawned and nodded his head. “Mamae, where are you going so quickly?”

Isanna paused. “To get dressed. I must meet with Marquise Briala. I'll see you tonight, da'len.”

She retreated to her room and locked the door behind her before slumping to the ground. Her hand raked through her hair. For once, she wished he was not a mage. Perhaps then he wouldn't have these dreams. There was another knock at her door. Isanna groaned.

“Isa?”

Isanna remained quiet and Sera called her name again. 

“Sera, please. Na ghilas.” 

There was silence on the other side of the door for a long moment. “Uh... ma... ma halani. Shit. Let me help.”

Isanna remained quiet and after a moment she heard Sera sigh.

“I'll be downstairs,” Sera finally said. “You're my friend, you know? I'm here for you.”

Isanna listened to her footsteps until they were gone.

It was noon. She had to meet with the Marquise.

 


	2. Wolf Mother

 

_"Wolf Mother, Where have you been?_

_You look so worn, so thin."_

_(Wolf - First Aid Kit)_

* * *

 

The Marquise marched into the room, her brows drawn in determination under her silver mask.

“Your worship, I do apologize for the delay.”

“Marquise Briala,” Isanna greeted, standing. “It is no trouble at all.”

“Shall we discuss last night's occurrence? There are few who I would trust to speak plainly on these matters.”

They sat down at the small table and servants quickly rushed in to serve them lunch. The open window let in the cool breeze, ruffling Isanna's graying hair. She was surprised it took so long for her silvers to come in. After the stressful life she'd led, she thought they would be here sooner.

Briala seemed just as worn, if not more. Her movements were followed by sighs and soft groans, and the bags under her eyes seemed only deeper with each visit Isanna paid her. She pulled off her mask once the servants retreated. Isanna leaned forward on the table, pushing the food aside as the Marquise dug into her plate.

“How did the situation in the alienage play out, lady Marquise?”

Briala paused in chewing and looked up at Isanna. “Let us drop the formalities for the moment, your worship. We both know the alieanage is in deep shit. I barely calmed the young men down. Very soon we'll have a revolution at our hands, and if we don't quell it, Celene will.”

Isanna sighed and leaned back. “The more we push...”

“The more they pull. Celene won't let her rule be weak. She already owes you her life.”

“You'd think that means she'd pay me back.”

Briala smirked and shook her head. “There is much to be gained from subjugating others. Celene and other rulers will make elves equal to humans the day the Qun decides mages are people.”

The Marquis left her meal and leaned back in her chair, picking up her glass of wine.

“You and I are much alike, your worship.”

“I thought we dropped the formalities.”

“In all our years,” Brialia continued, her eyes drifting to the open window, “working together, talking over politics in private as elves as well as in public as powerful entities of our own, we had never quite reached a consensus. What will we do with our people? We've kept violence down through sheer force, it seems. Celene makes good on some promises, as does Divine Victoria. But we've tasted promises and freedom, and it's made us bold. What now, that you've taken it from us?”

Isanna's fingers curled into fists.

“Should I have let him destroy the world, then?”

“On the contrary, your worship, you did the right thing. But our people won't thank you for it.”

She sipped at her wine, then set the glass down on the table, her fingers trailing behind on the glass for a moment as she thought.

“It is no longer a matter of philosophies.”

“Was it ever?”

Briala looked up at Isanna. “The elves won't stand for this much longer. The more they rebel, the more the humans fear us. Fen'Harel showed us we can fight back. And that the humans have a right to be afraid.”

“What should we do then?” Isanna asked, clutching at her throbbing head. She wished nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep into the late night. But what she wished for had not factored into her decision making since the attack on Heaven, so many years ago.

“What indeed.” Briala sighed and sipped at her wine again. “I'll speak with Celene. With luck, the relative peace will continue for a moment longer.”

“And our people will continue to suffer silently,” Isanna finished.

“Indeed.”

 

* * *

 

Isanna walked through the alienage, a single guard trailing behind her. _For your safety,_ Josephine insisted.

She felt eyes stab at her back. She did it all for them, but not just for them; she did it for all. Was it not enough? Was it a mistake? Were they too different to ever be one? Perhaps she was wrong.

She watched elven children scurry off at the sight of her human guard.

“Your worship, we should turn back.”

“Go then, I'll be alright.”

He grumbled but followed her deeper into the slums. They've improved somewhat over the years. Isanna and Briala pulled their resources together to rebuild the alienage and provide a better life for the city-elves. But the promise of more hung thick in the air.

More writing on the walls.

“Should they be found, your worship? Surely these are an admission of conspiracy.”

The guard had been with the Inquisition for years, well before Corypheous was the known threat. Even he knew so little of what Solas actually intended. Was she wrong in telling them?

“No, leave them be.” She turned away from the signs. Solas' name written on the wall, whether as Solas or Fen'Harel, gave her chills. She didn't care for the messages those words carried. She'd heard them before, at night when she had lain in bed alone at night.

Sounds of cheers and argument drew her towards the Vhenadahl. A large crowd stood gathered around a stage. A young man paraded on it, his hands making strong gestures with each word. The crowd cheered along with his words, and Isanna got as close as she could without drawing attention. The poor guard tried to reason for her to stop, but she wouldn't hear of it.

“Go back. I'll be fine,” she told him, and he stood hopelessly in the back of the crowd as she pushed further in.

“They tell us not to fight!”

The crowd booed.

“They tell us not to make it worse!”

More boos.

“And what do we do? We wait! We wait for lady Briala, the very honorable Marquis...”

The crowd laughed.

“And our very own Herald of Andraste, a Dalish elf so ashamed of her ancestry that she strips the Dalish markings from her face...”

More boos...

“To find some way, to politicize, to make us nothing more than points to score in a debate. We're alive, damnit, we're not a political issue. We're people!”

Cheers erupted throughout the square.

Isanna inched closer, some people moving out of her way as they noticed her fancy clothes. She felt self-conscious of them now. She only dressed nicely for meetings with nobles, choosing simpler clothes for when she was at home. But what did it matter? She had access to these luxuries while her people could only dream of them.

“And what would you have them do?” She called out to the young man when his eyes landed on her.

The crowd parted around her and the young man's shocked face quickly turned in rage.

“Fen'Harel promised us a way back to the times of old, when we ruled. And you killed him!”

The crowd cheered around her.

“I did not. And do not claim to know more of the matter than I. I had seen Arlathan. It was a soiled place, an empire built on slavery. Is that what you wish for? A return to the old, when Falon'Din sent you to death for his amusement?”

The crowd fell silent in the wake of her booming voice.

“We do not look to the past but to the future that might have been!”

“Then you are not a disciple of Fen'Harel. You are better. He knew nothing of the future. I knew him the way none of you ever could hope to know him. I know his heart. It is misguided, though pure. It is like you, yearning, passionate. Yet those alone do not make you right.”

The young man remained quiet. They all knew, of course. Word spread from the Inquisition, from the people inside Skyhold who had seen Fen'Harel as Solas and had seen him with her.

She knew him the way none of them ever would, but that hardly seemed to matter. The young man no longer cared for Solas. Fen'Harel is who he wished for, the god who would set them free.

“We wait here, then, to die.”

“We wait to make peace,” Isanna answered back. She watched him shake his head and make a few paces around the stage.

“The humans will never underestimate us again, and we will never submit again. Your peace is hollow, _your worship_.”

 

* * *

 

Isanna walked past Ameridan's painting without pause. She gritted her teeth. Even in her own home she had to see it, the pivotal moment of her life when she decided all their fates. It was far too late to wonder if she did the right thing. Should she have given him more time? Should she have let him move forward with his plan?

No, he was the blind one. He would not see the vibrancy of that young man. He would think him hollow, and sweep him away with the humans and those he deemed unworthy. He was Pride, and she taught him humility.

Ameridan bounced up to her, his hands locking behind his back.

“Hello, mother.”

“Hello, da'len.” She pulled her coat off. “Did you sleep?”

“A little. We've got visitors.”

Isanna sighed, rubbed the back of her head, and turned towards the large room she received her guests in. Idle chatter about magic and theory filled the air as she opened the door.

“Lady Morrigan, Kieran, a pleasure to see you both,” she said with a large smile. For once, she was relieved to see more people.

Morrigan and Kieran stood and came up to her with words of greeting. Ameridan stood beside her and beamed up at Kieran.

“I'll see about checking on Merry's schoolwork. Mother, will you...” Kieran let the words hang and Morrigan nodded gently.

Kieran ushered Ameridan out and closed the door behind him.

“Thank you again. I know I keep saying so, but I do think, shemlen as he might be, that Kieran is a good influence on Merry.”

“They share much in their history,” Morrigan agreed. “Tis' good for Kieran, as well. There are very few people he might speak to about things such as having a god for a grandmother without being laughed at.”

Isanna led Morrigan to a couch. “Yes, they may bond over both being related to ancient elven gods. What other children could say the same?”

Morrigan laughed. “In that case, it is I who has more in common with your son.”

Isanna smiled. “Kieran is the closest thing he has to a friend. I thank you again for letting him tutor Merry.”

Morrigan nodded. Her smile faded then. “Have you considered that these dreams... perhaps they are not indeed dreams but visions?”

“They're mostly incoherent,” Isanna argued. “Other than the one that inspired the painting. You've seen it as you entered.”

“Seeing the cross-roads in such vivid detail is not a thing I'd consider incoherent. It might be a possibility. You might consider that perhaps the Dread Wolf is attempting contact.”

Isanna's eyes widened and she let out a laugh. “You think Solas is trying to contact Merry? He's trapped.” She shook her head. “No. He's somehow drawn to that place, a spirit there, or maybe even a demon, is pulling him towards it. He's a dreamer. His magic is causing him to have vivid dreams and see more spirits. There is nothing more to it.”

Morrigan remained quiet. “Perhaps we should contact a dreamer then, to tutor him. While there is much my son and I can do, and you were right to ask for our aid with the lad, I fear we have reached our limit.”

Isanna breathed in deeply.

Morrigan remained quiet for a long moment as Isanna thought. She was the right person to be Inquisitor only on account of her patience and willingness to cooperate, born of years of being trained as a Second and dealing with all the children of clan Lavellan. In intelligence, talent, and strength, she was no better than any elf. She was a leader through circumstance alone, and her luck had run out, if she ever had any at all. Yet she tried, turning in her mind every possibility, until Morrigan laid a gentle hand on her arm.

“The boy is connected to him, connected to the Fade, more than any of us. Perhaps it is time to consider the worst.”

Isanna's jaw set in tight, her eyes racing back and forth in thought.

 

* * *

 

It was dark by the time Isanna left Josephine's office. She had asked her to send word to all the circles and schools in Thedas in search of a dreamer. She heard Varric speak of one once, and to him she penned a letter as well, asking if he could find the man he spoke of when Isanna first told him what Ameridan was.

Sera was in Ameridan's room. He sat in his nightclothes, his weary face watching in distaste the pictures on each page as Sera turned them over and read the accompanying rhyming words out loud. Isanna stopped and leaned against the door frame.

“Sera, I'm not five.”

“Shush. Stupid rhymes always make me wanna go to sleep.”

Ameridan rolled his eyes until they landed on his mother. Sera turned to her as well with an exasperated look.

“It's alright Sera,” Isanna said, stepping further into the room. “I'll put him to bed.”

Sera put the book away and kissed Ameridan on the forehead.

“Better sleep soon, yea?”  
“I'll try.”

Isanna watched her go then sat on the bed by Ameridan's side. He smiled at her, his face revived now that he was free from the dull reading. Perhaps Sera had the right idea, but he groaned when Isanna reached for the book.

“Magical theories, then? Such things put me to sleep.”

“I already read three chapters from that book there,” he said, pointing to one of the heavy and old tomes Kieran had him study in his absence, “and my eyes crossed over so much I thought they would pop out. And yet I'm still awake.”

“You don't look tired at all.”

“I napped a little. I think I might sleep tonight, some hours from now, but I will waken again, and once I do, I will not go to sleep again for a long time. If that's the case, I'd rather stay awake all night and do something productive, and nap in the mornings.” He seemed as frustrated as the rest of them, but he was not alarmed, nor did he cry and groan the way Isanna wanted to for lack of sleep.

“Do the dreams only come at night?”

Ameridan thought for a moment. “No, but they are stronger, I think.”

Isanna took a deep breath and lowered her voice. “Merry, this is important. Do these dreams seem... manufactured? Does it seem like they are sending you a message?”

He looked back at her with wide eyes, then shook his head. “Kieran and lady Morrigan spoke to me about that already. I... do not think it is demons. But the dreams do feel unnatural in a sense. I do not feel intelligence in them, however.”

Isanna pressed her lips together, wondering if she should ask about Solas. She told Ameridan who his father was, and what he had done. She left the gritty details out, but she did not keep secrets from her son, and when he asked, she explained all that she could, as truthfully and plainly as she could. Ameridan was such a strange little child, and he absorbed all sorts of information with an ease Isanna could not help but wonder at. Exactly how much of him was her son, and how much the child of a god?

“You look worn, mamae.”

“I am, da'len. I will make something for you to help you sleep.”

She was sure she would be yelled at by Josephine, Dagna, and Sera, all at once possibly. But it always helped her sleep, and as far as she knew, there were no ill effects to it, and if she could use it to treat scrapped knees, then she could use it to treat this. She stirred the tea, the scent of elfroot wafting up with the steam. She poured two cups and carried the tray to Ameridan's room.

He was reading from the same ancient tome he showed her earlier, his cheek resting upon his hand. He looked up when she came in and put the book back on the floor.

“Your special tea?”

She set one cup down on a side table and handed him the other. He sipped at it as she settled into the bed next to him and pulled him closer. Once he finished the cup she set it on the table beside her and cradled him close to her.

“Sing me a Dalish song, mother, it might lull me to sleep like it did when I was a baby.”

She pressed a kiss into his forehead.

“Anything for you, da'len. _Elgara vallas, da'len...”_

 

* * *

 

_Fired burned in the dark night, flickering among the aravels. Dalish lullabies permeated the air as mothers lulled their children to sleep._

_Her own mother appeared before her, stroking back a child's hair from her forehead. She was a quiet woman. Isanna remembered her thin back bending and twisting with a slow dance as she sat beside her and mended her and her father's clothes at night. She would watch her until she fell asleep and dreamed of running through the fields._

_“Da'len,” her mother said, “what troubles you so?”_

_Isanna looked up at her. She was in her bed, next to her mother's chair. Her mother paused in her mending and smiled down at her._

_“I'm worried about my son.”_

_Her mother's smile turned sad. “I told you not to let the Dread Wolf catch your scent.”_

_Isanna shook her head. “He is not the monster we think.”_

_“Then why have you locked him away?”_

_Isanna remained quiet, her small mind turning her thoughts over. But she needn't say a word, because her mother clearly heard all her thoughts._

_“Ah, you needed more time. What for, my child?”_

_“To convince him.”_

_“Of what?”_

_“Of stopping! Mamae, stop this interrogation. I wish to wake up now. I need to wake up now.”_

_Her mother laughed, her long neck exposed to the moonlight._

_“You needn't wake up, child, not yet. Tell me, what can time do for an immortal being? These last thirteen years seem like a different life-time for you, yet what are they do a god?”_

_“Morrigan's mother was a god, or close to it. Did the years she spend raising her daughter mean nothing?”_

_The woman smiled. “Da'len, you give yourself so little credit. You are one of the people, so young and so bright. You may do more than you think. You already have!”_

_Isanna sat up in the bed._

_“I could not kill him. What right had I to decide his fate? And I...”_

_“Do not think you were right?”_

_“I was right then to stop him. I only wish he saw what I saw. We can still salvage this, we can still help the elves, and we can do it without harming the humans.”_

_Her mother laughed again but it was not her laugh. She laughed like an old woman. Her grays came in. Her mother died before she ever went gray, orphaning Isanna at a too young age to remember her well. For a moment, she could not remember her at all. Her mind filled in the blanks, and the woman before her seemed nothing like the woman who sat there a moment before._

_“Tell me child, do you think vengeance is easy? Do you think freedom is? I wonder if Andraste would weep at what her Chantry had done to the elves she worked so hard to free. And yet she would not stray from her path, even had she seen the future. What was right then might not be now.”_

_“I'm not the Inquisitor anymore! Do not compare me to Andraste.” Isanna clapped her hands over her ears. “I could leave this behind me and take Merry to the Dalish and no one could ask me to do otherwise. I've done my part.”_

_“Oh, da'len,” the old woman cooed, “you knew then and you know now; your life is not yours to lead. You will remain and do what you must, or watch the world crumble.”_

_Isanna looked up at the old woman._

_“I will have my reckoning, and one day, so shall you.”_

_Her amber eyes sparkled with mirth and she leaned so close that Isanna could feel her breath on her cheek._

_“Heed your mother's warning, child. Do not let the wolf in.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	3. Sorrow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isanna revisits old wounds, and finds an old friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this chapter is late and a little short, finals just finished. Thank you to everyone who read so far. Happy Holidays!

3\. Sorrow 

_Dirthara lothlenan'as_

_Bal emma mala dir_

 

Isanna awoke with a start. She looked around in a daze. Her son's room was empty, and his nightclothes hung over the back of his chair.

She found him in the courtyard. Sera stood by, yawning, calling out encouragements as Ameridan loosened an arrow, the projectile hitting the target with a loud thud.

“Archery? So early in the morning?”

Sera's eyes rolled to her lazily and she yawned again. “Wanted to do somethin' with concentration, he said. I said, dunno, do archery. I concentrate with archery.”

Isanna stood and watched as her son notched another arrow onto the string.

“He's a mage.”

“Yea, so? You fight with a sword, don't ya?”

Isanna raised her brows in acknowledgment and nodded her head.

“He slept, he says, but I don't know. He said he had dreams. Bad dreams. Not good for a mage. Demons, and shit.”

Isanna narrowed her eyes. “Did he say demons?”

“Nah, he said weird shit. Dreams with things that talked to him. That's gotta be demons, right?”

Isanna didn't bother telling Sera about her own dream.

Suddenly, Isanna felt the air fill with magic. Ameridan cried out and dropped his bow. Sera and Isanna rushed to him.

“I'm fine.”

“What happened?” Isanna demanded, her voice booming. “Merry, what happened?”

“I'm fine! I just lost control for a moment. I think I mind blasted myself. Ow.” He rubbed his head, then looked up at his mother's worried face. He smiled. “I'm alright. I'll go find Kieran now. He told me to meet him for my studies when I woke up.”

He picked up his bow and returned it to a table nearby before rushing inside.

“He's losin' control, luv. That ain't good.”

“No, it is not.”

 

* * *

 

 

The door to Dagna's workshop was always barred shut, even when Dagna was inside, because her experiments could get delicate, and there were too many curious people in the estate. Especially those around the age of twelve. It was in the basement, below the large estate, and if it weren't for the soft mage-lamps lighting their way, the hallway they stood in would have been rather creepy.

Dagna opened the door almost immediately.

“Oh, hello Inquisitor!”

“You'll never stop calling me that, will you?”

Dagna laughed. “I owe a lot of my fame to you! Unless you'd rather I call you Quizzy?”

“Shh, Widdle, that's my nickname for 'er.”

“Dagna, you owe most of your fame to yourself.”

Dagna scratched at her ear. “Yeah, but thanks to you I had the opportunity to really use my skills.”

Isanna followed Dagna inside the workshop. She knew better than to touch anything. The tables were cluttered but neatly organized, and Isanna's eyes wandered over the many artifacts she had collected in her time as Inquisitor. She found an empty chair and sat on it. Sera did the exact opposite, picking up a few things and shaking them up, laughing and asking Isanna if she remembered where they found them.

“Honey, don't touch that!”

“Shush, Widdle,” Sera said and slid over to her. She sank into a large chair opposite Isanna and pulled Dagna into her lap. She peppered her neck with kisses as the dwarf giggled.

“Stop! Geez, you're such a cuddler.” Dagna turned to Isanna. “What can I do for you?”

“I need wards against demons.”

Dagna's smile faded. “For Merry? Oh, that poor boy. What about that teacher? The dreamer?”

“We sent letters. Hopefully he will agree to help. And hopefully, he will be able to help.”

Dagna nodded her head. “I'll set them up in his room and around where he plays. I'd ask the paragons or tell Sera to pray to the Maker that they work, but, well, I'm not sure there's a point.”

Sera made a farting noise with her mouth. “Maker could still be a thing. Andraste was a thing! Just cause Solas ended up – Ow.” Sera touched her side where Dagna had elbowed her. Then her eyes widened and she looked up at Isanna. “I'm sorry.”

Isanna smiled slowly. “It's alright, Sera.” She stood. “If you could put some suppressing runes in his room, too, please do.”

“What for?” Dagna asked, titling her head.

“Because he's starting to lose control over his magic. Don't worry, I will speak to him about it.”

“But his studies have been going so well!” She said, jumping off Sera's lap.

“Just do it, please.”

Dagna reached out and gently grabbed Isanna's arm. “You think it's... it's cause... he's his son? That it's got something to do with all that...ancient elf... ness?”

Isanna patted Dagna's hand. “If it does, then – I would say creators help me, but I rather they would not.”

 

* * *

 

“Perhaps meeting the demons head on would help him. He has no experience with them. It is, after all, how Hawke learned to deal with demons without the Circle's aid.”

“Kieran, I am not making my twelve year old son take the Harrowing.”

“Not what I am suggesting. I would go with him. It would be far from a Harrowing. Yet it would offer some... perspective for him in regards to demons.”

“Or,” Morrigan said, taking a few steps towards them. “We face reality. If Flemeth can come back from sure death at the hands of the Hero of Ferelden, then who is to say Fen'Harel cannot do the same? We worry about demons, but I propose 'tis not so at all.”

“He's not dead, he's imprisoned.”

“All the more reason for him to be able to do this. Perhaps he is even doing it subconsciously. He does have a connection to the lad, after all.”

Isanna took a deep breath. “Then, lady Morrigan, would you kindly open the door?” Throughout the years Fen'Harel's agents roamed Thedas, humans fought back by destroying all the mirrors they could. Even Morrigan, Kieran, and Varric's friend Merrill could not bring back the mirrors from the damage caused to them. Only this mirror remained, hidden away beneath Dagna's workshop, behind a locked door, behind wards and runes, hidden from sight behind cobwebs and shadows.

They had discovered how to change some of the passwords to the Eluvians a few years back. Isanna had asked Morrigan to change it so she would not know the password. It was a precaution, in case Isanna gave into the temptation to see him again, or someone attempted to force her to open it for them.

Once Kieran dispelled the wards she opened the door with the only key, which she always kept hidden, and after a brief moment of hesitation, pushed it open.

Inside stood the Eluvian, pressed up against the wall and held to it by chains. It was Sera's idea, and at the time, Isanna was willing to try anything to make sure the mirror would not be accessible form the other side. _“Put it against a wall, and they won't be able to get through! Press on the glass and bam! Wall!”_ Isanna smiled at the memory.

“I should go with you,” Kieran said. “You might encounter enemies.”

“I can handle the spirits there, Kieran. And I doubt any agents of his still remain in the crossroads.”

“But –“

“And you are human. The spirit guardians will seldom notice me, but will be drawn to you.”

Morrigan pulled Kieran back. “She is right. The Wells of Sorrows will guide her, should she require aid. But I will come with you, if you ask.”

Isanna approached the mirror and began unlocking the chains. “No. And do not tell anyone where I have gone. Tell them I went to the market. Especially do _not_ tell Sera.”

Kieran chuckled. “Not unless we want her head to explode.”

He helped her pull the mirror back until it was accessible again. She straightened her clothes out and turned away as Morrigan opened the way.

“Lavellan,” Morrigan called. It was strange to hear her clan name. And yet she felt more honored to be called by it now, after being called by her titles for so long. She turned to Morrigan.

“Whatever you find in there, do not engage with it. Do not put yourself in harm. We are here to aid you in this. Do not forget that.”

“Return safely,” Kieran added. “I will wait here for you.”

Isanna nodded and stepped through the mirror.

 

* * *

 

_The ballroom was packed. Isanna watched the dancing nobles through her mask. The delicate pattern was reminiscent of the symbol on the Dalish drapes in Skyhold. Isanna was just glad that the mask was inspired by a Dalish design. Her dress, too, was inspired by her people, much more than the Orlesian gowns she had worn before on such occasions. It was necessary as well as it was welcome. If the elves, especially those on the fence, saw her wear Orlesian garb, they would have disowned her completely from being an elf. Already, she held human titles, lived in a human dwelling, and wore shoes. If she was going to convince anyone to not follow Solas' ridiculous plan, she had to look the part._

_An elven servant came by to bring her more wine. Isanna followed the woman with her eyes as she retreated. Was it not unfair that she was here, in this gown, while her brethren carried wine? She looked the other way towards another servant who carried a tray of food. She frowned. Did they change shifts? There was a different man there before._

_“The negotiations will begin soon, your worship,” Josephine told her as she walked up to her. “Perhaps a dance before you are forced to sit for hours?”_

_“Are you offering?”  
“Goodness, no! Cullen had been training all month. Seeing you dance with the popular commander will reassure the nobles that you are not the savage they believe the elves to be.”_

_“Haven't I proven that enough?”_

_“Considering recent events, I think they require a reminder.”_

_“One dance, then. If you can pull Cullen away from his admirers.”_

_Both women turned to where the poor commander stood hiding his face from a rather forward young woman who leaned on his arm and tried to whisper into his ear. Josephine giggled and motioned him over. He managed to pull himself away with some difficulty._

_“Show time, Cullen,” Isanna said with a tired smile. “If you step on my feet this time the consequences will be a lot more dire, so please try not to.”_

_Cullen nodded. “Only if you actually allow me to lead, your worship.”_

_He led her onto the dance floor. A sound of muttered approval rose among the nobles and many more came to the banister to watch. Isanna took a deep, nervous breath. She was a rather good dancer, or so Josephine said. Her fighting style required good footwork and grace, and she lacked neither. But her dress was awfully low in the back, and her shoes pinched her feet, and she would have given anything to be in her armor, with her sword in hand, than on this dance floor. But alas, the music played on... and so they danced._

_A thought occurred to her as Cullen spun her around slowly. She had been at the Winter Palace enough times, and spent enough of said times with the servants, to know how they went about their duties. Her eyes moved all over the upper floor to check every servant. Then her eyes landed on the players. They were all elven. The music stopped, and Cullen bowed. She did so, as well, and was just about to follow Cullen up the stairs when an arm wrapped around her waist and pulled her back to the center of the floor. The music played on. A few more nobles returned to the dance floor and they began to twirl and spin in a slow dance. The man she danced with had a mask on, though the mask hardly concealed his identity. No one on the dance floor noticed, and they continued to move along to the music._

_“Solas.”_

_“You should not have come here, vhenan.”_

_“Don't call me that.”_

_“I did not expect you here.”_

_“And I should have expected you.”_

_He pulled away to spin her slowly and pulled her back towards him. “Your advisers likely spotted me already, but the Orlesians did not. Listen carefully.”_

_She didn't say a word. There was so much she wished she could say. But she didn't, because she needed to be kind, and to be soft, and to be everything he wants. Anger would gain her nothing, no matter how strongly it burned._

_“Tell Josephine and Cassandra, and all your human friends, to leave immediately. I do this as a favor to you. I cannot promise what my people will do to them.”_

_“Now they are your people? What changed? Or do you simply mean your agents?”_

_“My agents. Please, vhenan, I told you, I do not wish for our friends to die suffering.”_

_“Why take the Dales at all?”_

_The music picked up and so did their pace, and Isanna found herself pressed closer to him as they spun around on the floor. She wished she could push him away. She wished she could pull him closer._

_“It is... necessary. Without the orb, I must find alternative means to meet my ends. Please, I will give you an hour.”_

_Her fingers squeezed his in anger and her teeth ground against each other. “An hour to evacuate, or all my friends die? You would do this. You would, wouldn't you?”_

_He said nothing and spun her around again in time with the music._

_“I would. Ir abelas, Vhenan, but it is decided. What comes next... even I cannot stop it.”_

_The music stopped. His hand trailed along hers as he moved away, until he was lost in the crowd._

_“No. But I can.” I can stop_ you _._

_That night the Winter Palace ceased to be. And that night, Isanna journeyed deep into the Dales, still clad in her moss green dress, and begged for help. From the shadows, in the light of the full moon, among the howls of wolves, came to her a whisper. She could not convince him. Therefore, she had to kill him._

And if he had freed himself, she would.

 

* * *

 

The cross-roads were as beautiful a place as she remembered. What a pity it was that such horrible memories haunted this place. She wandered among the waterfalls and proud ruins. Spirits weaved in and out of existence, whispering elven secrets. She knew the pathway by heart. She passed the abandoned sanctuary in the Dales, where a decade ago she crushed her own people, to save those she had grown up despising. Yet they were misguided. They did not see what Fen'Harel had in store for them. There was no home for them at the end of his journey. All would be ash; their homes, their dreams, their lives.

The spirit guardians did not cross her path. The Well of Sorrows didn't offer any explanation. Perhaps they had retreated with time? She passed through many of the mirrors. The Vir Dirthara was nearby and Isanna let herself wander towards it. If the prison had broken, she did not wish to know any sooner than she had to.

A movement caught her eye as she entered the library. Was it the spirit who claimed to be the librarian of this place? She called out to it, but there was no reply. Instead there were whispers, and a flash of cloth. She turned a corner to see an Eluvian light up blue. She ran at it and tumbled through it before it could be shut.

She jumped to her feet. “Solas!”

She stopped. Before her stood a dozen elves, dressed in the ancient robes she had seen in the temple of Mythal. She straightened her back, her eyes scanning the surprised faces until she found him.

“Abelas.”

 


	4. Breaking Ties

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Isanna makes a decision that will break ties between more than just the humans and the elves.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this update took so long. Thank you for still reading.
> 
> Special thanks to Eumenides. Your comments keep me going!

4\. Breaking Ties

_You and I, truth and lies_

_I've been fooling myself too long_

_-Breaking Ties, Oceanlab_

 

Isanna made her way through the camp slowly. Perhaps camp was the wrong word for it. There was very little evidence anyone _lived_ here. Yet, did the ancients even eat, drink, sleep like the rest of them? The logical thought jumped at her and she turned to Abelas.

“Have you been in uthenera this whole time?”

Abelas nodded and continued walking along. “The other agents had a place to go. We did not.”

“I'm sorry.”

He paused and titled his head to the side.

“I destroyed your purpose twice.”

Abelas gave a short laugh. “Or freed me. I have not slumbered the whole time. Once I met the quickened elves, more like you... Ah, no matter. You came here for a reason.”

Isanna found herself unable to say his name again, so she simply nodded.

“He is still where you left him, I assure you.”

“You know?”

Abelas motioned towards an active eluvian. “I do not wish to insult your intelligence, but do remember who you are speaking to. This place... it is closer to what home was. It didn't take long for me to find him. But even then, the spell you used – I could not break it. Nor did I wish to, not immediately, at least.”

Isanna let out a breath she didn't know she was holding. Yet a small pang of pain and guilt made her unable to feel relief. Some of the spirit guardians stood nearby, their eyes vacant as they scanned her. She shouldn't have been surprised to see the ancient elves make use of them, though she wondered what they could possibly need their protection for.

“Do you know? About... I had a child.”

There were a few of the other ancient elves nearby. As if by magic, they all seemed to hear her and turn to her. She focused on Abelas. There seemed to be no judgment in his face, just endless thought and a hint of curiosity.

“He's been having dreams. He saw the prison. I worried... do you think he can communicate with him?”

“I don't doubt it's possible, but I do doubt it's likely. If he is his son, then the boy inherited magic your people have not seen in ages. It will take time, but he will learn to control himself. As for the visions, I can only assume it's the work of the spirits. Who knows how many called Fen'Harel friend.”

Isanna sighed. “Then I truly made many enemies, did I not? Spirits even... my own people grow to hate me. I try to keep peace.”

“Sometimes chaos is what's needed,” Abelas said. “Though not all chaos is created equal.”

 

* * *

 

 

Kieran and Morrigan waited for her when she returned, and she told them who she met and about the state of the prison. They sat in the sitting room, behind closed doors.

“'Tis not what I expected. Have you given thought to what should be done about them?”  
“The ancients, you mean? I'm surprised they're still there, too, but where else might they have gone? We sullied Mythal's temple.”

A heavy knock on the door and Sera's string of creative curses interrupted their conversation. Isanna jumped up and unlocked the door. Sera's face was flushed red.

“Come quick! Come on!” She grabbed Isanna by the arm and dragged her over to the door.

“Sera! What's happening?”

Sera's flushed face twisted into such a look of despair that Isanna needed no more urging. She ran out the door and followed a crowd of elves, people she had been working with for years to find common ground between the humans and elves. They led her towards the alienage, but stopped short. For a moment, Isanna thought she saw the alienage burn. But they were only torches, carried by humans and elves alike. She pushed past the crowds and came out on the other side where a skirmish was taking place, cries filling the air as humans and elves slashed at each other. Over a dozen people fought while onlookers cried and cheered. Briala was on Isanna's side in seconds and the two shared a quick look before their vision was blocked by steel.

The Templars, or what was left of them after the circles fell, charged into the chaos. They pulled the humans and elves apart from each other, their iconic shields bashing and blocking incoming blows from people who didn't wish to end their brawl yet.

“Maker's breath,” Leliana breathed beside Isanna.

“Your perfection, you should not be here,” Briala protested, but Leliana shushed her.

“Please, Divine Victoria, tell me you can stop this,” Isanna begged.

“Not alone. Come, we will speak to the people. They must see reason.”

Briala scoffed. “You'll preach peace again, your perfection? And you, your worship? Think these elves want peace? They want vengeance. And I do not think they're wrong to ask for it.”

“What do you suggest?” Isanna asked, her voice deepening with rage.

“ _Listen_ to them. You Dalish are supposed to be proud, but you know what they think of you?” Briala pointed her thumb at the quieting fight. “They think you're spineless.”

“Then come and show your face. They love you, don't they?”

“Me? Me, who slept with the empress? They respect me as much as they do you. But _you_ are the Herald of Andraste. If they'll give anyone a second chance, it's you.”

The guards and templars cleared a path for Isanna and Leliana to the wooden stage in the center of the alienage. Leliana began with a prayer from which Isanna respectfully excused herself, keeping her head down until the prayer was done. It did little to calm the angry cries of the elves. Accusations flew of human instigators, and questions of why the humans were not getting the same _lecture_. Isanna felt more on display than she did her first time in the Winter Palace.

Her gaze wandered over the many faces as Leliana tried to calm the people. Was she simply too exhausted? She had been trying to keep the peace for far too long, rehashing the same arguments. The arguments of _it'll make things worse,_ and _you'll make the humans hate and fear you more, just be patient._

“You're constantly blaming us! What of the damned shems?”

“Please, you must understand. Change is slow, and it will take time and patience –“

“Patience! You can be patient! My sisters get felt up by human nobility while you sit on your golden throne!”

Isanna recognized the voice and looked down to see the young man from the rally.

A glint in the shadows of the night caught her eye and she looked up at the roof of a nearby building. A group of young elves sat on the roof, hanging on to railings and each other as they leaned over to see more. Ameridan's green eyes shone among them. One of the other elven children nudged him and he turned to them to talk.

Isanna looked back down at the seething young man.

“Tell me then, what do you want?”

“Justice! Equality! Is that too hard for your _worship_ to understand?”

“No. What do you _want_?”

The young man seemed taken aback by the repeating of the question. He glanced around at his fellow elves, all who seemed as confused.

“They want the humans to leave them be, is that not it?” Leliana asked quietly.

“We've tried that. We closed the alienage off and what good did it do? Elves got jumped the moment they left its walls.”

“We have a list of demands,” the young man eventually said. “We've sent them to you before.”

Isanna caught a glimpse of Briala near the gates, where the human guards still stood watching. She went up to the edge of the platform and jumped off. The elves made room for her and she turned to the young man.

“I've seen them. And I've tried to fulfill each one. And yet we're still here. So tell me what you really want.”

The young man stared at her, his brows drawn down over his shining eyes.

“A place we can call home. Where we can have respect and dignity. We once had Elvhenan, and it was ripped away from us. We once had the Dales, and they were taken, too. Fen'Harel's plan was cruel, but this is a war. The humans would see us dead. I don't see why we can't fight back the same way.”

“The Dales failed because of a few people –“

The young man's glare turned to Leliana and the templars by her side drew their swords. She quickly calmed them down.

“The Dales,” the young man continued, “even if we get that place back, what will it matter? The humans will take it again. And those of us who have ties here, to Orlais, to Ferelden, to the Free Marches, what of us?”

“What if I can make the Dales defensible? What if I can make the Dales a true home, a country worth rivaling Orlais? Would you relocate, and keep the peace with the humans?”

Leliana moved forward as if she wanted to pull Isanna back but her templars stopped her from entering the crowd.

The young man considered this. “If the Dales could rival human nations, maybe they'd think twice about treating us like shit. But it doesn't matter. You and the Marquis have been trying to free the Dales from human hands for years with your shitty diplomacy. Unless you've got an army we don't know about, the empress won't let the Dales go.”

Isanna could feel the disapproval boring into the back of her head.

“I do have an army.”

 

* * *

 

 

Ameridan didn't shy away when his mother's eyes found him among the crowd. His alienage friends poked and prodded him for answers.

“What's this army, Merry?”

“I can't say.”

“But you know!”

He did. Or at least, he had a good guess.

“Well, the Jennies can help, too,” one of his older friends said. “It'll give us a chance to prove we can be more than dicks to nobles.”

“You're only sometimes a dick to me,” Ameridan said with a smirk.

The young elf laughed. “You're only sometimes a noble.”

Ameridan's smile faded. It was yet another reminder of his dual nature. A noble, yet an elf. A contradiction.

The young elves dispersed and Ameridan climbed down the side of the building. He liked to climb. Perhaps it was some innate desire to be among nature, as he imagined climbing a tall tree must be very much like climbing a building. The only trees he ever tried to climb had all been too small to get him as high up as he wanted.

He took his time going home. He knew his mother would stay behind, speak with Daral and the other elves. He thought about all she had told him of the Cross-roads and the Dales. Did she mean to take back their ancient homeland, after all? The palace at Halamshiral had been rebuilt, and he had been forced to go there more than once, dressed in stiff dress clothes. He wouldn't mind seeing it burn, but wasn't foolish enough to think there wouldn't be casualties. If there was war, would he ever see his city of Val Royeaux again?

His mother greeted him in the parlor. His paintings littered the walls, old paint cracking beside new projects. Her eyes were calm and her smile fond, but there was a spark of something behind her kind face that made him pause. He almost didn't hear her when she asked him a question.

“Merry?”

“Sorry, mother. What did you ask?”

“Are you feeling better?”

“Much better. I took a nap, there were no demons. I know you're probably upset I was out so late.”

She stood from where she was sitting and walked towards him. Her hand gently cupped his cheek.

“I was worried. But there was such a commotion, it's understandable you were curious about it. Those were your friends?”

“Some of them.”

“You should invite them over sometime.”

He shook his head. “They'd feel out of place. I'd rather go to them. Uh... I suppose this is as good a time as any to tell you I've been sneaking off to the alienage, huh?”

She took a deep breath and a tired smile spread on her face.

“So, you being so tired, it wasn't just the dreams? You little trouble-maker.”

Ameridan's face flushed red. “No... I'm sorry. I did have dreams. I was worried they were demons. They warned about them in the College. But my friends are... at least partially responsible.”

“Well, I've called for someone who might be able to help with those visions of yours. You're a dreamer, after all. You need a teacher who understands what that means.”

Ameridan smiled.

“I'm glad you don't hate it so much anymore.”

Ameridan shrugged. “It's another thing that sets me apart from other kids. But I can either embrace it or fight it, and I know I'd lose that fight.” He yawned.

“Bed time, then.”

“You go on ahead, Mother. I'll draw a bit until my eyes get tired.”

Isanna leaned down to kiss him on the forehead.

He looked about the room once she was gone. Soft light illuminated years worth of his work. Green trees and bushes were the common element that brought all his work together, from the first splatter of paint to the latest mural on the side of the wall. If she was going to the Dales, he'd go, too.

 

* * *

 

“How could you? You are inciting –“

“Just listen to me. We've tried everything, this has to work.”

Leliana threw her hands up. Cassandra and Josephine looked on. Josephine's hand grasped at the air, trying to grab their attention.

“This is war! You are advocating for war,” Leliana continued.

“And this isn't a war already? The elf, Daral, he may be young, but he speaks with all the pain and anger of my people. You said you wanted to help the elves. Maybe this is the only way to do that.”

Leliana turned away from her with a huff.

“Perhaps we can still mend this,” Josephine pleaded. “The Empress owes us her life. She will forgive –“

“No.” Leliana's back straightened and her head tipped back as she looked up at the statue of Andraste. “Isanna is right. We've tried peace. We've tried integrating the alienage with the rest of the city only for the humans to fight back. We have tried changing law, changing perception, and yet, all our hard work is ruined by a mob that fills the streets once a year like a plague. We cannot change the minds of all the humans, and the elves will not wait longer.”

“Are you suggesting an actual war with Orlais?” Cassandra asked, her voice picking up in anger. “That is simply ridiculous. You will be crushed! And then, what will people say?”

Leliana stared at Cassandra for a moment before her steely gaze turned to Isanna. “They'd say what they said about _him_. They'll fear you.”

Isanna walked past Leliana. The statue of Andraste stood proud and tall before her. So many statues depicted her with a bowed head, her hands stretched out with the eternal flame in her palms. But this was a gift, pulled from the rubble of the old Kirkwall chantry that Varric sent Leliana on her first anniversary of being proclaimed Divine. Here Andraste stood tall, her head not looking at her humble worshipers but at the horizon. Her hand clutched at a sword. The fire was no longer an offering, but a weapon. Andraste had been a warrior, though so few remember it.

“Let them.”

 


	5. Somewhere Only We Know

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I promised I'd get it out soon, so here it is! It was half-written already. I'm very sorry to whoever was still reading this fic that it took so long to update. School and work had been hectic. Please enjoy and if you liked this fic, please leave kudos or a comment or both!

 

5\. Somewhere Only We know

 

_This could be the end of everything_

_so why don't we go_

_somewhere only we know_

_-Keane_

 

 

The cross-roads were as beautiful as they've always been. It was refreshing to be there with another elf, a person who could see its beauty the way her human friends could not.

“This... is amazing.”

She smiled. “Isn't it? It would take work, but the humans wouldn't be able to reach us here.”

Daral gave her a skeptical look. “Would this be enough?”

“No, but it would allow us a safe place to grow. We can't challenge Orlais for the Dales as a rag-tag group of alienage elves. This... if we do this, this can mean the end of the delicate...” she struggled for the words, “...relative peace we had before. We can be safe here.”

Daral took a few steps forward. His breaths were coming in hard, like he'd been waiting his whole life to be here and couldn't contain himself. Isanna let him explore the few feet in front of them, her hands folded neatly in front of her. He stared up, into the “sky” that hung above them. He touched the delicate flowers on the branches Varric swore were bare. He was an elf, but he was new to this the way she had been. For a moment she wondered if this was how Solas felt when he no doubt watched her make her progress through here for the first time. Was it pride she felt? Simply, she was glad Daral seemed as enthralled and interested in the Cross-roads as she was, even if he wasn't a mage and could not feel it as well as she could. When he turned back to her he had a giant grin on his face.

“This is _amazing_. I can't believe I'm here. I heard stories. My mom, she worked with... well, she's been here once. I never thought I'd see it. I was so young when it all happened.”

“Is your mother still with us?”

He shook his head. “But people say I'm as fiery as she was. Probably why they let me do the talking. Either that, or I'm too hard to shut up.”

“Can I count on you to be my voice among your people?” Isanna took a few steps toward him. Daral kept glancing back at the landscape before him.

“I suppose. Yes, yes you can. They're your people, too, your worship.” For once the title didn't sound like an insult coming from him.

“I hoped this wouldn't happen, but now that we're here, it almost makes me feel free.”

Daral scoffed. “I know you did. I'll admit it, what happened back then, it set us back a little, didn't it? It showed the humans what were capable of. Now they're scared and back on top and want to drag us through the dirt. We're worse off. You can't leave it like this.”

He looked back at the landscape, at the waterfalls falling into nothing, at the floating ruins littered with little pink flowers. Where was the sun in this place? It shone so brilliantly.

“This is where we were supposed to be, your worship, not a dirty human slum. I thought we were doomed when you killed him, but now, well, there's some hope left.”

She turned back to him, blinking. “You think it was a mistake? Do you know what he was going to do?” She wanted to question him about why he thought she “killed him.” Surely, if his mother worked for him, he knew the great Fen'Harel couldn't have just been killed by a lowly little elf like her. Or perhaps he could. Isanna faltered between belief and skepticism. Was he a god? Was Mythal? Her chest felt empty whenever she thought of Flemeth and Mythal. Where was she now, the dear Mother, the Protector? Why had she stayed away all the millennial, and now left her here?

Daral smiled. “Sure I did.”

Isanna lightly shook her head, pulling herself back towards the conversation.

Daral continued. “He was going to bring back ancient Elvhenan. We'd have a home. We'd be strong again. Humans wouldn't dare fuck with us.”

Isanna's chest constricted. She turned away before he caught her despairing expression. She often wondered if the elves who supported Solas understood what they were doing. Now she had her answer.

“Return through the mirror. I must speak with an old friend.”

Daral made a pouting face.

“I have a son, you know. That won't work on me.”

He took one final, long look at the magical landscape before him.

“Thank you, uh... _hahren_.” He sounded so uncertain when he said it. Yet he was the voice of the alienage elves. How different was she from him. And how different had Solas been from her. Their “people” were so vast. How would she ever unite such differences?

He walked past her and into the eluvian, disappearing behind the magic.

 

 

* * *

 

 

There was a fallen tree among the qunari statues. It hadn't been there before. Isanna passed by it, careful that her boots didn't step on the pink petals still clinging to the grounded branches. She paused for a moment, looking back to the eluvian. Then she reached down and removed her boots. Her toes curled and uncurled on the rough stone. It felt cool, and comfortable, and she tossed her boots aside before continuing on.

The mirror was much larger than the others. The first time Solas left her here, after removing the anchor, she sat on the ground for a long time, clutching her disintegrating arm. When the pain passed somewhat, she pulled herself closer to the mirror, thinking, if she could only reach him and _reason_ with him... But then there was darkness, and when she awoke, she was in the Winter Palace, her advisers and friends staring down at her in worry.

She traced her fingers along the mirror's frame. Then she pushed on the mirror, and entered. Many mirrors stood in a neat circle. Most were shattered, their frames standing naked. Others were dark, their keys long lost.

One intact mirror stood on the far side. About it milled spirits, many with the appearance of an elf, others that of a human, and some others with no distinguishable race. They floated and paced around, about half a dozen of them. None seemed to notice her walk in and wander towards the mirror.

She stood in front of it and took a deep breath. She could feel the magic, her own magic, coming from the magical glass. And beyond she felt a throb in the earth, a beating like that of a heart.

“ _En'an'sal'in.”_

Isanna turned to the spirit, whose face twisted in grief.

“Are you speaking about me?”

The spirit made no reply.

Isanna's nose crinkled in irritation. “Why are you here?”

“ _Amal. Amal'amelan.”_

Isanna took an aggressive step forward. The spirit didn't move.

“Why? Are you contacting my son? Why is he seeing this place? What had Solas done for you?”

The spirit shrank back, then disappeared. It reappeared a few feet away, wandering slowly in a different direction, completely indifferent to her once more.

Isanna sighed and turned back to the mirror. It called to her, the ancient magic recognizing her blood. She hovered her fingers over the mirror, feeling its cool surface part ever so slightly. Then she pulled back and turned away.

 

* * *

 

Abelas was where she last met him. He stood by a small waterfall, the crisp, wet air surrounding him. Isanna took in a deep breath and joined him in watching the water tumble down.

“I hope you are well.”

“My son told me he's been seeing less demons in his dreams.”

“That is good.”

“And there's more spirits. Friendly ones, he says. I hope he'll be careful in distinguishing them.”

“I hope so as well.”

He looked down at her, waiting patiently.

She sighed, her eyes staring into the sky-blue waters tumbling before her. “Do you think it was a mistake to lock him away? He would have destroyed all the world.”

“It seemed so, yes.”

“Abelas, I'm not sure how to ask this of you. Of any of you.”

He turned to her fully. “You have my attention. What is bothering you?”

Isanna stood quietly for a moment, the words formulating in her mind. “I wish to use the cross-roads as a base. I want to retake the Dales. Would you help? We have superior magic. We have the eluvians. Please tell me I'm not a fool for doing this.”

His eyes widened for a moment before he burst out laughing. “Lethalan, you are a contradiction if I've ever seen one. But ah, there is a difference. I know that. Are you a fool? I do not think so.” He was quiet for a moment, a small smile on his face.

Isanna blushed lightly at being called “lethalan.” It's been a while since her own kind, if Abelas was such a thing, called her that word so casually.

“You carry a part of Mythal within you. I am to worship her. It is not a stretch to say I should show you enough respect to see through your plan.”

“I have your help, then?”

“You have it. Though you will have to ask the others. There is only so much I can decide for them.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Merry! Merry! _Merry!_ ”

Ameridan rolled his eyes and slung his bow over his shoulder.

“Ameridan, you get your little butt down here this instant!” Dagna's sweet little voice called out. It seemed impossible for her voice to ever sound angry, even when she was scolding him. He grabbed hold of the gutter around the roof and swung his legs over. He could hear Dagna's gasps as he slowly climbed down the side of the wall, grabbing onto window ledges. His new boots had great traction, and he had been trying them out all over the buildings in Val Royeaux.

He jumped down the last bit and landed hard on his feet. It hurt a little, but he'd be fine. Dagna waved a finger at him. “Don't do that, haven't we told you?”

“Oh, I'll be fine.”

She pouted. “Here, cutie. This is for you.” She pulled out an amulet out of her pocket. It was meant to keep his visions from bothering him, he was sure. He didn't want it. Mother had been fretting so much, and he was scared at first... but he didn't fear it anymore. He took the necklace and put it on, but threw it into a drawer the moment he was in his room again.

A knock on his window startled him. He looked up and saw one of his alieange friends on the small balcony. Ameridan opened the window and leaned on the sill.

“You heard?”

“Heard what?” Ameridan asked.

The friend waved him forward. “Come! Daral has news! Your mother, well, you should hear it yourself!”

Ameridan quickly grabbed his bow and slid out the window.

They ran down the small paths between the sprawling buildings of Val Royeaux, past the heart of the market, the peddling and the shouting. He loved it. The scent of people, hundreds of them, of perfume, the fake smells the ladies sprayed themselves with. Sweet cakes and swords sold side by side. Shouts of _furs from Ferelden! Dwarven crafts, straight from Orzammar! Finest Antivan silk!_ Mother hated it, he knew. Though she saw the beauty of it she hated it, too. She wanted the forests. Green and vibrant. But he'd take the purple dresses and the jeweled slippers, the music spilling from the taverns, over the savagery of the wilderness. He was not wanted there. Here, he breathed in home.

The alienage was buzzing with excitement. He tried to ask his friend why the people were all standing around, whispering loudly amongst themselves.

“Shh,” the friend replied.

They finally made it into the command center; a dingy little house long abandoned, with a deep basement where Daral and the Elder gathered the elves for assemblies, away from humans' prying eyes.

Ameridan sneaked through the crowds, his friend closely behind, and hid behind stacks of barrels. Crude weapons were inside, in case they'd be needed. Ameridan carefully climbed to the top of the stacks and peeked his forest-green eyes over the top to see Daral. He and the Elder were in a clearing, surrounded by dozens of elves, the elderly woman nodding her head as Daral spoke. His face was flushed pink, his mouth open and grinning.

“... And then, she took me inside! Through the mirror, into the beyond!”

Ameridan's friend elbowed him lightly. “You know where, right?”

The Cross-roads, of course, but Ameridan didn't say it. He narrowed his eyes in... disbelief? He didn't quite believe... Yet, Mother could have changed her mind, could have decided drastic action was necessary. The rally had shaken her, he knew.

“But how will we get there!”

Daral's grin only broadened. “We can sneak past those shem scum. Right under their nose, we can travel there quicker than it'd take us to leave the city. We'll plan there. We'll grow there. We'll take back the Dales!” Loud cheers followed. Ameridan's face flushed with worry. Would there be war? He had never lived in times of war. Peace was delicate, yes, but it held them all close together.

Daral ordered the elves to spread the word. Ameridan climbed back down.

“You don't look good. Aren't you excited?”

Ameridan shook his head at his friend. “I'm just tired. I still can't sleep well.”

 

* * *

 

He found his mother in her room, sitting at her desk. Her wrist seemed thin as it held up a letter to her face. It was dark now. Her face was lit up by a small lamp nearby. He stood in the doorway until she looked at him.

“Hello, _da'len._ Did Dagna give you the amulet?”

He wasn't wearing it. He nodded. She looked at him again when he didn't say anything.

“What's the matter?”

“Will there be war?”

She titled her head, then a sad smile spread over her thin lips. She reached out and he went to her.

“Are you worried?”

“For you. You've lived through so much war already. I know I'm young, but I know the stories.” He traced the scar on the side of her face and she leaned into the touch. There was a piece of her left ear missing. And of course, her arm had long been gone. He had never seen her beautiful like the paintings. She didn't care for them, but he was glad Josie had commissioned them when his mother was still young, still fresh...

“A war is what you wanted to avoid. Isn't this what _he_ wanted?”

His mother turned her head away and reached out to pull him into a hug, pressing her cheek against his belly. “I pray to whatever power still remains that I do not make the mistakes he did. But I see now the world cannot continue this way. Merry, _da'len_ , this will be... tricky.” Her eyes drifted to the floor. “I am sorry I'm not making you my priority. But I cannot wait anymore. We cannot, as elves,” she looked up at him, “wait anymore. The relations between humans and elves will not get better this way. Something big, something dramatic must happen to help change along.”

“Does Leliana know? Does Josie?”

Isanna looked up at him. “They will soon enough.”

Ameridan wrapped his arms around her neck and kissed her cheek. “Change. It's a better word than war.”

“It will all depend on the humans, _da'len_...”

 

* * *

 

 

“Only we know this place!” Isanna called out from where she stood upon a large boulder, in the middle of a large field. Hundreds of elves, all in awe of the world around them, with packs and weapons and flushed cheeks stood around her. “Only we have the keys. Only us, the elves, have the right of this place. Abelas,” she motioned to him, where he and other ancients stood by, “has agreed to help. We are one, they and us. As the alienage elves and the Dalish are one. We _are the people_ , and we are not defined by culture or by religion. I believe in no gods. You may believe the Maker, or Mythal, or Elgar'nan. I believe only one truth; the humans, though many of them are dear friends, have kept us in servitude and slavery for too long!” Her eyes swept across the faces of the elves. Some were from other cities. They had all gathered here, a month after she first brought Daral to the Cross-roads.

“We, brothers and sisters, from Kirkwall, Ferelden, Orlais, the slave-holding Tevinter; we all will fight for our freedom! War, gods know, is something I wish to see no more. And I will pray it will not come to it. But I will not pretend peace is worth more than your lives. So join me. _Revas!_ ”

Cheers rang out, chanting of _freedom!_ And within the earth of this place, through the magic woven throughout the trees and grass and rock alike, came a thundering, like that of a beating heart. It skipped a beat, familiarity making it falter. And all the thundering feet above could not have felt it. But Isanna did, deep in her heart.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> En’an’sal’in - a healing period after an event of great pain or loss.  
> Amal – protecting  
> amelan – protector, keeper   
> revas - freedom

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> (Please excuse my bad elven and feel free to correct me  
> Ma hellathen din'an = Your noble struggle is over/ My noble struggle is over  
> Ma banal las halamshir var vhen = You do nothing for our people  
> Telanadas = Nothing is inevitable / the Nothing is inevitable  
> Ir Abelas = I'm sorry/ I'm filled with sorrow  
> Tel'Abelas = not sorry/ you're not sorry/ I'm not sorry  
> Na ghilas = you go/ you leave  
> Ma Halani = your/my help)


End file.
